


Conflict

by irish_trash_cash



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: I'm a sucker for angst, even though this is hardly angst, oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6433444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irish_trash_cash/pseuds/irish_trash_cash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Request for a short story, defining how I see Arthur and Saoirse's current relationship with each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conflict

Saoirse. Just the thought of her made Arthur tense in frustration. He loathed her so much yet whenever he heard her voice, her laugh, the way she said his name with her alluring, lilting accent, an inexplicable feeling washed over him and he couldn’t get his mind off her no matter how hard he tried. But he didn’t feel any of that now as she sat before him, looking completely and utterly crushed.

Saoirse had expected some sort of good news when Arthur called her into his study on that blustery afternoon. Situating herself in one of the canvas chairs across from him, she smiled and lazily asked what it was that he needed; her usual routine for whenever he summoned her. His returned smile made him look like an angel, but then again, even the devil was once an angel. When he opened his mouth, when he began explaining everything faster than her brain could comprehend, her expression fluctuated between that of confusion and utmost desolation.

Arthur worded everything as if it were all a statement- like Saoirse had no decision in the matter. Dreadfully, she didn’t. “Arthur… Wha' do ye'-” She managed to stammer out, barely able to form a coherent sentence.

“Don’t.” He spat out, face hardening. Saoirse sat there staring at him warily, looking for the slightest hint of sarcasm or mockery. But she found nothing. Saoirse, always a strong, independent woman, felt like a wounded animal under his glare.

“Wha' do ye' mean?” She managed to say, more clearly this time. Arthur’s eyes roamed over her, taking her in. She was trembling, fists clenched tightly in her lap. Her emerald eyes, usually full of content, were now dark pools of misery. In that moment, Saoirse felt as if she would explode. She could have easily dove over his desk and strangled him, but she didn’t. She sat there trembling, holding everything she felt inside her, hoping he couldn’t see how much his words had affected her.

But invisible tears hold the most pain, and Arthur knew as he looked into her eyes that he had truly broke her. He figured she would be the toughest of the bunch, that convincing her to go along with everything would be no easy task. He surely didn’t expect her to just sit in front of him quietly like this, far different from her boisterous personality, but he had become intoxicated by the power he was given over she and the others, so he did nothing but sit with his arms crossed as an inelegant cloak of silence covered them.

Saoirse was bad at goodbyes, so she left without saying anything. She stood up, back straight, and walked out of his office as calmly as possible. She remained this way until the moment she reached her room. Saoirse locked her door behind her, and finally allowed herself to snap as she slid to the floor and brought her knees to her chest. She was a sobbing mess. and her hair plastered to her face from tears. She was not a work of art. She was not a song, a story, a painting, a poem. Her existence was beyond infinite sketches of artwork. She wouldn’t allow herself to be defined by a mere set of words or colors. She wouldn’t allow herself to be defined by him.

After Saoirse left his office, Arthur poured a glass of whiskey, quickly downing the fiery, amber liquid in one go and wincing as it burned his throat. He could not measure the weight of his words on a scale, but he knew the affect they had on her. If regret were a physical object, it would be like sand, and Arthur couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just let Saoirse seep through his fingers; he knew she would rebel. They weren’t in love, at least Arthur thought they weren’t. Love is something that lingers, and he had never felt anything for her when they were near each other. Yet when they were apart, like this, he found himself drowning in something he couldn’t put into words. He was not deserving of love, or even friendship as pure as hers, not after what he’d just done.


End file.
